


At Her Side

by SegaBarrett



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Brother/Sister Incest, Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Theon struggles to find his role in Yara's reign.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones, and I make no money from this.

In a little _tap, tap, tap,_ Reek bounced around inside Theon’s head.

Theon always tried to keep him out. Tried to kill him, even. Tried to shove him back where he belonged and replace him with the Theon Greyjoy that once lived.

It had been what Yara had been telling him to do, and he didn’t want to let Yara down.

If only she knew how much he really needed her. 

He saw the way she looked at Dany, the way they seemed to mold together like wax when they stood side by side, the way that they would laugh together like they were the same in a way. 

When he had been a child, Yara had been a child too, and she hadn’t been the way she was now. That Yara had been an annoyance to Theon – he’d wanted to run and jump with his older brothers and Yara had been a distraction.

Now she was a distraction in a different way. She had played a trick on him when he’d come back and he had tried to hate her for it.

Now, he shivered as he remembered the words she’d said. “I’ll never hurt you, little brother.” And she’d never let anyone else, either. 

They were sharing a room in Danerys’ local base of operations. It was odd to share a room with anyone – anyone other than a pile of slobbering, barking hounds – but to share one with Yara was odder still.

Tonight, he could not sleep. That part was not unusual; you never knew what horrors were waiting for you in the night if you closed your eyes in the Dreadfort.

Yara’s hair was spread out over her pillow, and there was a peacefulness she had in sleep that Theon never saw in her during the day. He didn’t want to disturb her.

But just the same, he couldn’t sleep.

It made him think of those nights in Winterfell when he’d shook Robb and Jon awake to go on adventures, jumping off snow drifts and tackling one another before ending up safely back in his bed, bruised but exhilarated.

Why was it that the things that had made him so excited then filled him only with terror now?

Oh, yes, of course – it was Reek _tap, tap, tapping_ in his head, only wanting to be free of pain. An unimaginably nice day for Reek would be laying in a bed all day and keeping all his fingers. 

He placed his hand softly on Yara’s pillow, and felt the oddest urge to climb into the bed beside her. How would she react if he did?

She’d probably be disgusted – of course she would. She had been horrified when she’d seen him as Reek. What would she say now if the few mangled fingers were to…

And where had that thought come from, now? Yara was his sister. Of course, there had been the whole mix-up when he had come back into town, but that had been a mistake any man could make. Even Yara had joked that anything with a cock could be fooled.

But Theon could still be fooled. 

He was about to go back to sleep in his own bed, or try to anyway, when Yara stirred.

He froze in his spot, sweat appearing in beads on his forehead. Something in the suddenness was still _Ramsay, Ramsay, Ramsay, don’t you wake him Reek or he’ll be so mad at you and you’ll…_

“Theon?”

His throat was sore.

“Theon?” Yara was laughing as she sat up in her bed. “What are you doing awake? And staring at me?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Theon stammered. 

Yara sighed and leaned forward, slowly. She was careful with him these days, and it equal parts touched and frustrated him. Was he so broken, now? Should he do what she had suggested and end it all? 

“You should have told me, then.” Yara patted the bed. “That’s normal, you know. When you’ve seen some crazy shit. Sometimes it keeps you up nights.”

Theon sat down as he wondered what “crazy shit” his sister had seen. It was odd to think that anything could really faze her – she seemed so brazen, so above fear and any petty emotion. 

“We can stay up together,” Yara told him, “But we have a big day tomorrow, you know. It’s weird to think we never really got to do this as kids. Hang out.” She cupped Theon’s chin. “It’s funny – when you thought I was just some random lay… What did you think of me?”

Theon’s throat was still dry, sore. He didn’t like thinking of the Theon from before – it was hard to remember that Theon; he was all foggy and blurry and to see him was to look through too many tears.

“I don’t remember,” he offered finally. 

“Did you… did you want to?” she asked, her voice gentle but also with a hint of something Theon didn’t know quite how to place.

“Did I want to… with, with you?” Theon tried to find that memory in his head. Meeting Yara, sitting behind her on the horse. Touching…

“That’s what I asked.”

“I… Yes?”

“There isn’t a right or wrong answer, Theon.”

Yara reached down, placing her hand on Theon’s leg, not moving too fast but still making his heart feel as if it was going to escape his chest. What was he supposed to do now? 

“…There isn’t?”

When he had been with Ramsay, there had always been a right answer. Or maybe there hadn’t been – maybe it had been all wrong answers, because Reek had always, always gotten them all wrong, again and again.

“No. Only the truth, Theon. You can talk to me, little brother.”

Yara leaned in and pressed a kiss to Theon’s cheek, first. He wasn’t sure whether he turned out of some desire – something buried deep from before, far before – or out of shock and recoil, but he turned, and now their lips were on top of one another. 

He let out a moan, low and wanting. He knew it was wrong; or, no, maybe he just felt like it was wrong. But everything Theon did was wrong, sometimes.

And this was one of the ones that actually felt good. Yara was warm and sweet and careful… He never would have expected…

She was pulling off his shirt, now, and Theon refused to look down and stare at all of the criss-crossed flay-marks. He wouldn’t think of that time, not now. He didn’t know how long that commitment would last but he wanted it, by the Drowned God he wanted it and needed it. 

“Theon? Talk to me. I have to know that you’re with me, right now. We can’t do this if you’re going to be off somewhere the whole time. You remember what I told you.”

 _Slit my wrists if I can’t be Theon Greyjoy again._ Of course he remembered. But could he be?

“I’m here, Yara. And I want… I want this.”

Did he? It had been a long time since he had been allowed to decide what he wanted.

But he had thrown Myranda off the tower. That had been a decision. He had saved Sansa. That had been another. 

She reached out and undid his pants, pulled them down but not off. It was as if she couldn’t be bothered to find the time – everything had to be quick and swift with Yara. It was like she was forever the captain of her own ship, and this time the sea she was sailing was every inch of Theon’s body.

His mangled body.

He must have leaned into the touch, but now he fell back, nearly off the bed.

“I can’t,” he whispered. 

He scrambled.

Maybe he couldn’t do it – maybe it just wasn’t him anymore.

Maybe Yara had been right all along.

***

Theon quivered from his neck down to his toes – what was left of them, anyway.

He still had his crossbow in his hands. The battle had been fought, and won, and there was blood on Theon’s hands all over again.

His uncle’s blood.

He bit his lip. It wasn’t like it used to be – he remembered he had smiled once when a man had gotten his head cut off. It had all seemed like a game. Maybe it had been – maybe he’d been a boy playing an Ironborn.

Yara had never played in her life; she had only won.

She was standing before all the Ironborn as if no one else had ever stood there. As if there were statutes built to honor her, as if there was a Yara’s Landing as surely as a King’s Landing.

She had asked him to stand beside her but he could not. He could, however, stand in front of her Queen’s Guard.

He was the head of it, after all, as much as he knew what they whispered about him, even though they had some kind of grudging respect for him.

“He’s so brave in battle ‘cause he’s got nothing left to lose,” he had heard one of them say. There had been a time when it would have driven him to fury, but not now.

Life was far too short.

***

“I’m tired.” Yara raised her arms up and scratched at her neck, and Theon wondered at the fact that he’d missed out on seeing her like this when they had been children.

Well, maybe not children, but teens. And older.

He couldn’t reconcile this Yara with the one who had been, what, eleven? When he had left.

Everything changes when a boy goes away to become a man. And when a man goes away to become… what had he become?

“I’ll leave you,” Theon told her, wondering if he would have to bow and kneel or something now. He hoped not – it would hurt his knees; they had been torn up too many times already.

She grabbed his hand as he turned to walk away, and it shook him for a second.

“Come, Theon,” and she said it in such a royal, queenly voice that Theon was thrown for a loop. Layers and layers Yara had. “Will you keep me company this time?”

He didn’t whimper, not this time.

He said, “Yes,” in a breathy voice, even as he was unsure. He would never be sure of anything again. 

His knees didn’t hurt so badly against the soft sheets on Yara’s bed, and his scars didn’t hurt so badly as she kissed his face. 

Ramsay had gone easy on his face, and Theon still didn’t know exactly why. 

She pulled off his shirt and unlaced his pants, and this time he didn’t scurry away. 

He had to listen to his queen, after all. He truly was in her hands, now. 

She was his mistress, his lady. He had signed his life over to her now.

“You know what to do, don’t you, Theon?”

Her voice was gentle, but he never would have thought of denying her this, though he couldn’t help but feel shocked as she lay before him, stripping off every piece and layer to be laid bare before him.

As if they were meeting each other for the first time, somehow.

Some part of Theon was relieved that it was this; doing this, he didn’t have to think of his missing fingers or the scars between his own legs, only on his tongue and how he could allow it to dart from place to place.

It had saved him many a time.

He used his fingers to help guide the way. Yara tasted sweet and sour and she smelled like something safe.

When she quivered, he rested his head on her thigh and lay there for a moment. Trying to remember. 

What would this have been like if it had all gone differently? 

He shut his eyes; there was no point in thinking about that now.

“Theon. Come up. Join me.”

She snapped her fingers, and he scooted up the bed and lay at her side. It felt odd, like he was hovering over the edge of a cliff and staring downwards.

“This is where you belong,” she told him.

He was ready for the fall.


End file.
